


Unless There's Children Crying

by we-protect-each-other (failsafe)



Category: Doctor Who (2005), Hunger Games Series - All Media Types, Hunger Games Trilogy - Suzanne Collins
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon, Crossover, F/M, Gen, Multi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-07-26
Updated: 2012-07-26
Packaged: 2017-11-10 18:46:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,802
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/469506
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/failsafe/pseuds/we-protect-each-other
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Because this is what I do, every time, every day, every second: this. Hold tight. We're bringing down the government." </p><p>About twenty feet away from me, several dried, dead trees had been crushed to the ground and on top of them lay a blue box, a band of glowing yellow-white letters wrapping around one end. It was nothing like anything that existed in District 12.</p><p>[AU:  The Doctor meets Katniss Everdeen rather than Amelia Pond after regenerating into Eleven. WIP. Summary also in progress. Don't know what Doctor Who or The Hunger Games are but like one or the other? Handy links provided inside for explanation.]</p>
            </blockquote>





	Unless There's Children Crying

**Author's Note:**

> This story picks up right toward the end of a chapter of The Hunger Games and is laced into the narrative. I'm not sure how much following chapters will resemble this format, but you're along for the ride with me. Happy reading and thank you for your time! [More explanation in the end notes.] 
> 
> tumblr gifset for this chapter on my Hunger Games blog:   
> http://get-a-hobby-peeta.tumblr.com/post/28046487766/unless-theres-children-crying-chapter-one-about

I can't help comparing what I have with Gale to what I'm pretending to have with Peeta. How I never question Gale's motives while I do nothing but doubt the latter's. It's not a fair comparison really. Gale and I were thrown together by a mutual need to survive. Peeta and I know the other's survival means our own death. How do you side step that?

I don't know Peeta. I don't know him the way I know Gale, and I don't really know him at all. I don't know what's real or what's a lie with him and it's probably better that way. But I still can't bring myself to forget he's a person, to imagine he's just an animal to be shot down so I can survive, so Prim might not have to watch me die. If I could forget, Gale would be right. It would be just like hunting, but Peeta's too smart.

I glance at the door, knowing I won't have much longer to myself. In the training center, my room is blue. Everything from the blanket on the bed to the light that filters into the room seems blue. I close my eyes for a minute and I start to remember something it seems like I've forgotten until now. I open my eyes quickly, afraid I'm about to remember some nightmare that even the eleven flashing on the screen last night, still behind my eyelids can't shut out. The light of the room does nothing to stop the memory and I helplessly remember darkness—the encroaching darkness of a cold November evening, that first November, the very first time I fell asleep in the woods.

That afternoon after school, I had climbed up into a tree to wait for squirrels and to empty their winter stores wherever I could find them—nuts and berries that were harder and harder to come by once the weather had started growing cold. Safe, high up off the ground, I waited but the wind was cold and I sniffled, feeling a burning in my throat. I was scared that I was getting sick. There were plants in my book that were remedies for colds, but I couldn't afford sickness. Not when I had to keep us fed and the bitterest part of winter hadn't even started yet.

I had started to shrug on my father's hunting jacket about a month before on the coldest days. It was big, heavy on my slight shoulders, but it kept the cold out. Burrowing deeper down into its warmth, hiding my nose for a moment to try and breathe warmer air, I could still smell my father on it and it almost made me dizzy.

I sat up but the cold hitting my lungs again made my breath shudder, and then I felt something I had managed not to feel for weeks. The sudden rush of grief, the powerlessness of knowing no matter how fast I climbed down the tree and ran back home, I'd never find my father there again. I sobbed helplessly and hid my face, curling into a ball as best I could to muffle the sound because I couldn't stop.

I don't know when I stopped, because the next thing I remember I heard something that startled me awake. My eyes were sticky with tears, my skin burning and red from damp and cold, and then I was on the ground in a big pile of orange and brown fallen leaves. They hadn't done much to break my fall and I was still on my back, struggling to breathe, to move, but the sound hadn't stopped and just grew louder and louder and more distinct. I gasped and coughed against the pain in my chest and forced myself up onto my elbows but by the time I had the sound had stopped.

About twenty feet away from me, several dried, dead trees had been crushed to the ground and on top of them lay a blue box, a band of glowing yellow-white letters wrapping around one end. It was nothing like anything that existed in District 12. The light from it had power of its own—it wasn't connected to anything and it was so far away from the fence. I swallowed and tried for another, deeper breath, wanting to run for the fence but I couldn't even get to my feet.

I squinted at the light and tried to steel my expression. I didn't know how it had gotten there, but I didn't want to seem weak to the owner of the box.

Doors opened, not out but up as if the whole thing were lying on its side. The letters running along it seemed to agree. Then a hook came flying out, over the end opposite the words and along the ground, dragging until it caught in something.

No matter how breathless and in pain I was, seeing the hook had me on my feet, my back against my tree, watching. I couldn't run yet so back up was the only way to go, though with the hook it didn't seem like I'd get very far.

Frozen by the burning in my lungs, eyes fixed on the bright light that came from around and within the box, I watched and saw the rope give and move slightly until finally a hand caught the edge of the box, then another. Then all at once a man popped up, his hair soaking wet and everything else about him obscured by smoke or steam or fog.

He squinted through the darkness and his eyes fixed right on me.

“Can I have an apple?” he said, apparently not noticing the bare trees or the chill in the air. He just looked at me expectantly. I knew that look, wide-eyed and almost innocent but it wasn't the look of a man. I didn't have an apple, and I couldn't start feeding absolute strangers who popped up out of boxes that simply appeared and fell over in the woods, scaring off the smaller animals I could catch to keep Prim's belly full. “All I can think about.Apples. I love apples. Maybe I'm having a craving! That's new, never had cravings before.” 

I was still trying to shake my head or work up the strength to make it back to the fence or to react at all when he abruptly stopped speaking and hoisted himself up over the edge of the fallen box. He straddled it and swung his legs back and forth, everything about him seeming like the very youngest children in the schoolyard who managed to not yet know how hard life could be. 

“Look at that!” he exclaimed when he looked down into doorway. His voice echoed down, impossibly deep like there was the whole depth of a mine below him, open and deep and forever. Strange sounds answered him that reminded me too much of the electric hum of the fence that I was always careful to listen for when I came to it. 

“What happened to you?” I asked, the words coming out all at once, like they were actually meant for the child he acted like. 

“Just had a fall—a fall back down there right into the library. Hell of a climb back up.” 

“Library?” I repeated. We had a library at school, filled with all the new textbooks for each year and a handful of songbooks and dingy old picture books with drawings to accompany the very earliest versions of the Capitol's history we learn as kids. I couldn't imagine one person—and this man seemed to be alone—having a library all to himself. I wondered if he even knew what a library was. “... You're wet,” I observed, not wanting to let him think that I wanted him to answer questions for me. I knew I needed to get back home—almost every trace of light had gone from the dimming horizon.

“I was in the swimming pool, in the library.” 

“Are you a Peacekeeper?” I asked, eying the side of his box, squinting at the unnaturally bright light the made the letters glow and glow without any sign of flickering or fading out. 

“Peace-keeper, trouble-maker,” he replied with a strange wide grimace that I eventually realized was a smile. The way he spoke was unlike anything I'd ever heard before. 

I still haven't heard anyone who spoke like that—not even Effie Trinket with her thick, affected accent that rings in my ears now more than it ever did— _“Primrose Everdeen_ .” 

“Depends,” he said, his voice holding onto the word almost like he was about to start singing. Then his gaze on me seemed suddenly accusing, much older than anything I'd seen in him until that moment. For the first time he seemed like a man—a thin man who talked strangely, who came climbing over the edge of his electric box and stood on his feet in front of me. He approached me and I looked up at him and then back up into the tree, waiting for the right moment. “What do you mean?” 

“Your box says, 'police,'” I explained. “Are you from the Capitol?” 

As abruptly as he had done everything else, the man was kneeling down before me until his eyes were level with mine and he could reach out and almost touch me. He showed me his palms and I frowned, realizing that he meant surrender. Then he was inching toward me on his knees, scraping the fine cloth of his trousers that already seemed torn and filthy. His shirt was tailored and he wore the tattered remains of what I knew once must have been nice clothes—expensive. 

“'Capitol,' you say,” he told me. I stared at him, wary, and I still didn't know why I hadn't tried to get away when he reached out and took my father's hunting jacket by the sleeve, pinching it and lifting my arm up with it, searching for my hand. “Ooh, you're cold,” he observed and for a moment his touch lingered on my hand, its warmth unnatural for a man who was soaking wet, outside in November. He looked up and met my eyes, keeping hold of my hand until I finally reluctantly tugged it away. “Where are we? Earth, yes, it's got to be, but... your accent—America? Southern America, but not all Stetsons and cowboys.” He lifted his hand from where he had let my hand go and rubbed his fingers together delicately in front of his nose, sniffing. “... Coal. What year is this?” 

I watched him, dizzied by the flood of questions and strange words I didn't know and things that didn't make sense. I recognized the word  _'America,'—_ North America, the place that Panem once was. Then he was saying things about the Capitol and coal like he had no idea where he was. I finally just shook my head, trying to find the words to put a stop to all of this.

“Sorry, going too fast? That happens sometimes. My synapses are going like mad.” He must have heard me try to take a deep breath because he focused his eyes right on the trip of my nose and then reached up and wiped beneath it, undeterred by the damp he found. “Oh, little cold?” 

“No,” I insisted, turning my head away a little but not so far I couldn't keep my eyes on him.  


“... Don't worry,” he assured me, furrowing his brow with that same confused, innocent expression he'd worn before. “I won't hurt you... I'm the Doctor.” 

“You can't--” I started to tell him, but then I decided that telling him that I'd never met a real doctor before and that my mother was the closest anyone was likely to get, when she'd bother getting out of bed was pointless and probably giving too much away. “... What do you want?”

“You're afraid,” the Doctor announced suddenly. He leaned in even closer and looked deeply into my eyes, studying each of them as if he might fight some answer in them. “But what of?” he mused.

I tried to shake my head again but the Doctor moved back and coughed weakly. He laid back against the ground and seemed much worse off than such a little cough should have made anyone, so I circled around him and looked down at him when I was even with his shoulder.

“I'm all right,” he insisted, looking wildly up at me. “Still cooking,” he explained as he reached up for my sleeve to tug me down a little closer to him. “Come on, tell me what you're afraid of,” he said breathlessly.

“I'm not afraid,” I told him quietly.

“Not afraid of anything, I imagine,” the Doctor agreed. He cleared his throat noisily and I thought he was about to say something else, but when he opened his mouth, a golden, sparkling light came from his mouth. It was so strange it couldn't be real, but it was right in front of me, like the vapor that came from my own breath in the cold but even more material. I tried to get up and away from it, but I wasn't fast enough and it almost seemed to seek me out. When it touched my face it was warm but not warm and wet like someone's breath on my ear. It tingled and I sneezed without having any chance to stop myself. Then when I inhaled my nose felt surprisingly clear and all at once I noticed that my cold was gone. I rubbed at my nose experimentally and even the reddened irritation that had been there felt fine. I heard the Doctor laughing softly and looked down at him sharply, suspiciously, but whatever he'd just breathed on me seemed to have made me better. Maybe hereally was a Doctor. “Ahh, gotcha. Now that's interesting. Never seen that happen before. I wonder if it always did that.” 

“... Thank you,” I said hesitantly. It didn't stop me from moving back quickly when the Doctor sat up. He was still almost face to face with me in just a second. 

“Now, do you want to tell me where you thought I was from again? The 'Capitol' of what?” 

I opened my mouth to answer, but then I heard something and looked back over my shoulder. There was a glow reaching up into the cloud cover above the district when I looked over where I knew home was, one that was usually only seen on the very coldest winter nights when we were lucky. Only this time I wasn't lucky at all to see it. 

“The electricity's on,” I said, the words spilling out of my mouth before I could stop myself. I looked at the Doctor with widened eyes, and I'm not sure why I paused at all. I had no reason to think he could or should help me. He was a stranger and I didn't know where he'd come from or if he had really meant to heal me at all. I looked away as soon as I could pry my eyes away and started running for the fence as fast as I could, slipping over dampened leaves on the ground and catching myself on branches. I was so focused on trying to get home before the current began to run through the fence again and trapped me outside in the cold all night, away from Prim who needed supper, that I hardly noticed the Doctor had pursued me until we stopped in front of the fence. 

“That was some great running,” the Doctor said through trying to catch his breath. I tried to ignore him and listen to the fence, confirming my worst fears. The humming I very clearly heard told me I was already too late. Touching the fence now meant severe injury if not death and it was getting too dark to find a way to climb over it. I went a few steps closer, even if I knew it wouldn't make any difference. I peered beyond the fence and tried to see if there was anything near enough to see why the electricity was on when I hadn't expected it to be. “The electricity's back on, you said? Why would that be a bad thing?” the Doctor carried on, following my lead and approaching the fence a bit more. Only he didn't stop and was ready to go right up and touch it. 

“Don't!” I demanded, much too loud. Then I shrunk back a step or two, trying to disappear into the shadows even as I lifted my hand in the Doctor's direction. “Don't, it'll shock you,” I explained. To my surprise, the Doctor seemed to listen to me completely and turned around, kneeling back down to my eye level with a knitted brow. 

“How old are you, ten?” he guessed. 

“Twelve,” I corrected. 

“Twelve-year-old little girl out in the woods, alone, trapped outside an electric fence that you think should be _off_ ,” he observed again, nodding down the load I was carrying. “An _armed_ little girl with a bag for what, food?” 

I nod, looking over at the fence again. There isn't any point denying it. Then I looked down and ran back without announcing where I was going to hide my bow. I had forgotten it. The Doctor was undeterred and followed me. 

“My little sister,” I said, looking up at him expectantly when I had safely hidden my bow back in its waterproof cover. 

“She needs you. And she's on the other side of that fence,” the Doctor replied, nodding back up toward the fence and leading the way this time. He stopped short this time and studied it from a safe distance. 

“Someone will see us,” I hissed a warning to him. 

“You're not meant to be out here,” the Doctor surmised, suddenly grinning at me like a madman but just for a moment. He seemed to think it was funny, maybe. “I like you already...” Then he trailed off, searching for more words. “What's your name?” 

“... Katniss Everdeen,” I admitted after working up the nerve. I didn't trust this man who called himself a doctor, not really, but I'd once had to give Gale a little bit of information to get any out. 

“That's an unusual name,” the Doctor commented. “Not very _American_. You never did tell me where we are.” 

“District 12.” 

“District 12, where there's a Capitol you're afraid of, and you thought I was a policeman...” 

“A Peacekeeper.” 

“Right, a 'peacekeeper.' Now, usually, when there's actually peace somewhere they don't give people titles like that, in my experience. Katniss Everdeen of District 12, how about we get you back on the other side of this fence and you show me what exactly is wrong here,” the Doctor said, reaching down and searching each of his pockets for something. Before he found whatever he was looking for, though, a very loud bell began to toll back in the woods where we'd left his box. The Doctor looked over his shoulder and went a little more pale, then his movements to find something in his pockets were altogether more frantic. “Hold that, thought. Katniss Everdeen, I'm going to get you back on the other side of that fence, but then I have to run and see about my... box, alright?” he negotiated quickly, holding up a long cylindrical device—silver with a blue light at the end. 

“How--” I started to ask, not daring to hope that he could. 

The Doctor took a deep breath and knelt down to my eye level one more time. 

“Trust me,” he said, flashing a bright, genuine smile. “I'm the Doctor.” 

Then he turned toward he fence and began to adjust his tool, pressing a button on it and making the blue light hum. He climbed to one of the high posts of the fence and looked up along it and pressed his tool to the edge of some of the wires and then ran it along until the humming in one whole section died down. The Doctor reached out with one hand to test it and I nearly shouted again to make him stop, certain he was going to be sent flying back, probably stone dead, from the fence. He did cry out a little, but it was just an unpracticed response to pain. With a shake of his hand, he was back to work and I noticed the bright red line that ran down his palm—a burn, but otherwise he was unhurt. Then he tried a few other settings on his tool and then I knew that at least the section he was working on was dead. I ran for the fence the moment I knew it was safe, not questioning or thanking until I was on the other side. 

“See, you can trust me,” the Doctor said from the other side. “You go see about your sister. Run along, Katniss. I'll be back here tomorrow, and you can tell me what's wrong here.” 

Then his composure was gone and he drew his tool away from the fence and ran for where he'd left the strange blue box in the woods that was still raising some kind of alarm. I didn't have time and I knew the sound would draw attention and I thought the fence shutting off when the electricity was on might, too. I ran for my house and made it inside before I really let myself breathe again. Prim ran into my arms and I immediately started to try and assure her that I was safe and that I had something for her to eat. I was late getting home and she was scared. 

Once she was fed and we crawled into bed, though, the night started to seem much more ordinary. I closed my eyes and eventually the electricity powered back down and I held closer to Prim's warmth, dimly aware of my mother wrapping her blanket tighter around herself. I blinked my eyes open once long before the sun, struggling to keep them open. I tried to decide if the Doctor had been real at all, if I'd really seen a mad man with a ringing blue box, but I couldn't make sense of it. 

The next day, I saw Gale in the woods but the blue box was gone, leaving nothing but the few broken saplings in its wake. Gale didn't believe what I told him, thought I must have been dreaming, and the Doctor never came. 

Effie's knocking at the door, reminding me there's another “big, big, big day!” ahead. Tomorrow night will be the televised interviews. I guess the whole team will have their hands full readying us for that. 

**Author's Note:**

> I'm suspecting that if you're here reading this that you are aware of what both The Hunger Games and Doctor Who are. However, as promised in this first chapter I'm going to provide you with a couple of quick links to give yourself a refresher if you're not quite familiar with one or the other. Primary spoiler warnings are for The Hunger Games, but you may run into spoilers for either series. This is a side project I am working on among other things and shall sometimes be accompanied by tumblr posts with image sets which I shall link to here. The tags and summary are always subject to growth and change.
> 
> If there's one or the other you're not familiar with, I'm going to bet it's Doctor Who, so here's a crash course: 
> 
> Doctor Who is a British, campy, epic sci-fi series that has been running in one form or another since 1963. It is about a man, an alien called a Time Lord who calls himself the Doctor. When he is dying, he can regenerate and change his whole biological person. 
> 
> This is an excellent fanvid that explains it in trailer form far better than I can: http://youtu.be/zm7aE4xUjwQ
> 
> Our story begins when I started an AU based on the first episode of this series/season: http://youtu.be/7a9_Jyq2nXg 
> 
> Now, if The Hunger Games is the thing you're a bit more fuzzy on, here is a link to all of the theatrical trailers for the film in one video (though you might want to turn off YT commentary option) and I trust you can spoil yourself for the series via wikipedia if you so wish: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FovFG3N_RSU 
> 
> Sorry if this was a needlessly annoying introduction but I just wanted to provide some explanation for where all this came from.


End file.
